Boba Fett: Trial and Tribulation
by suckittrebec
Summary: Boba Fett is known the galaxy over as possibly the most dangerous man without a lightsaber. When it comes time to test the skill of the young Mara Jade, Palpatine can think of no one better to pit against his Hand. But things are never so simple with Fett
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or any of its associated trademarks and copyrights. This story is written purely for enjoyment, and I will receive no form of compensation for its writing. Other than a few reviews hopefully.

So, this is my first Star Wars fic. Always thought of writing one, but didn't have any original ideas to set it apart. After the most recent Legacy novel, however, I realized that very little interaction has occured between two of the most popular characters outside the major players in the Original trilogy, even in the vast world of Fan-Fiction. Boba Fett and Mara Jade are both very interesting and dynamic characters, who are similar in many ways, and I think when pitched together, will result in an equally interesting story. Heres my attempt.

Hope you enjoy, and review if you do.

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Prologue: Names and Faces

What makes a planet interesting isn't necessarily what scrolls by on-screen during a sensor sweep. In fact, hardly anyone would care that the most common naturally occurring element on Imperial Center was silicon monoxide, or that Corillia's oceans have an ambient temperature of 284 Kelvin. No one outside those dynamic fields of stellar geology and xeno-climatology, anyway. No, to most what makes a planet notable, even special, comes down to the sentient beings that inhabit it. The rise and fall of cultures, the ancient and current struggles for existence, from the mundane to the legendary; that is what made a planet stand out, gave it its name. The descendants of the men, women, and whatever other strange derivations of the standard sexes that originally christened it were entrusted with the mantel that that name not be forgotten.

Given that, there was nothing particularly notable about Beviran. It was just another backwater planet, an unremarkable member amongst the thousands of other two-bit worlds hardly worth naming in the Outer Rim. When it came to planets, it was no better that Tatooine once the members of a certain bloodline had vacated it, no worse than Hoth once its lone settlement was eliminated. It was a bland rock, granted only a mildly habitable environment. Beviran had one continent, covered by a singular biome of conifer-like plant-life. As it orbited its common yellow star, it underwent two seasons, a winter season and a rainy season. The atmosphere was an uninspiring mix of nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and just enough vaporous sulphur to make you gag as you step outside for the first time. So devoid of vibrancy was this body that it had not produced more than the most simplistic forms of animal biomass. To be summed up in a sentence, Beviran was a place where the Force had hit writer's block, if you believed in such things. Even off-worlders seemed to acknowledge this fact. Over the history of the New Order, the planet had seen 2 Imperial patrols. One to transport the new governor planet-side, and the other a brief stop-off for emergency provisions after a Star Destroyer in the squadron had been struck by a rouge comet. Other than that the planet hadn't seen military action since the very earliest days of the Clone Wars. Day by day, Beviran would serve as port for a handful of small freighters and at most 6 bulk carriers, which comprised the transport fleet of a mining consortium that was really the only major employer in the system. True to lack-lustre form, the minerals of interest weren't even on Beviran, but one of its uninhabitable sister planets, denigrating it once again to little more than a mining camp. The population was largely the employee's of that firm, rotated out for 6 month periods. They did there hours, maybe frequented one of the quiet canteena's for a few hours a week, and slept. Aside for the once in a blue-quasar bar fight, life there was as interesting as the ever-present overcast in the sky. But, it is said that 'every Bantha has its day,' and for Beviran, that day was today.

Today, though most of its inhabitants would never know it, would see probably the most exciting chapter of the planet's history. And, ironically, this moment was made possible by Beviran's very inconspicuous nature. One man, Adeal Tam, who was just now putting down on the outskirts of Beviran's capital (and only) city, formed one part of a pair of individuals who would scribe these lines. Of the two, he was what Beviran was to Corasaunt. But he had a part to play.

Born on a Middle Rim industrial planet to a lower middle class family, he made his way through the menial education system, was awarded a scholarship to a business college in one of the Core systems, earned a degree in accounting, and promptly found employ in the criminal underworld. First amongst some of the small time pirate gangs around his home world, through several merc organizations, to finally find himself on the pay-role of the 'prestigious' Hutt crime syndicates. He learned the ropes quickly; which patrollers to pay off, which ones to threaten, what banks were suitable for his employer's tax 'breaks,' how to manage the convoluted series of fronts required for credit laundering, and, most importantly, how to skim a little off the top for himself. Unfortunately, one thing he did not learn was that an official education did not necessarily make him more intelligent than the men he was taking advantage of. Another was that stealing a Hutt's credits was, beyond having a run in with a Sith lord, the most sure-fire way to becoming one with the Force in the known galaxy. And also one of the most painful. Adeal had amassed a small fortune of credits by the time his master discovered the small blip in his account statements, but there wasn't enough currency in space to protect him once the enraged gangster decided to drop the hydro-spanner on him.

Two weeks had passed since then, and Adeal had slept for perhaps 9 hours over that period, in snatches while in hyperspace when exhaustion overcame the stimulants. He was well beyond the edge of his physical and mental capacity, but even as he was in the process of complete collapse he knew that he could not afford to slow. He knew that by now he was surely being followed. Rationally, he recognized that the first and only avenue of his former boss could enact against him would be placing a bounty on his head. And, in keeping with the pattern of 'investment' he had been authorized to consign in the name of his employer when he yielded such authority, the price would be roughly twice that of what had been taken. Possibly even more, considering this was a direct act of betrayal. Knowing the sum of his self-appropriated 'bonus,' and the value of the ship he had commandeered for his escape, every bounty hunter in the galaxy would have been interested. Maybe even... No, if the particular hunter was on his trail, he would not be here right now. After all, the man was known from rim to rim for his swift, efficient tracking methods, and his especially violent apprehensions. Yes, he was being followed. But the pursuit was like being followed by a ghost. Sensor scans were clear, but it was like every time he glanced to the edge of the transparasteel view-port he would see the glint of a hull just off moving off from his position. Toying with him. The hunter he was thinking of didn't waste time with things like that... did he? Maybe it was nothing, just paranoia setting in, but it was because of those fraction-of-a-second motion blurs that he hadn't closed his eyes for longer than a few minutes at a time, that he had been dropping from hyper-jumps in the middle of deep space and re-computing destinations, and that he had come to Beviran. A hole-in-the-bulkhead planet whose co-ordinates most pilots deleted from their navicomputer, to refuel and resupply. He didn't plan to stay long. He didn't plan to... but the pilot of the ship hovering just out of sight in the soup above had other ideas. It began to rain as Tam made his way into the city.

When Adeal returned to his landing site after locating a source of fuel and preparing a selection of provisions, he found it a smoking crater. By now the light rain had developed into a raging thunderstorm, the crash of the thunder above overpowering the string of curses that broke free from the hunted man's lungs below. The nervous suspicion he had been harbouring exploded into a fully developed panic. He dropped to his knees, and began pounding the dirt at his feet, stopping every once in a while to grab a hold of his hair and ream on it in frustration as he glared at where his ship had once been, screaming inaudibly all the while.

The stress of running had pushed him to this point. The days without sleep, without reprieve, all because of his flight, until he was holding onto the edge of sanity with only his fingernails. He had hated the running. But now that the running was for all intents and purposes over, the last grips he had on reason were slackened. Running had become all he had.

Suddenly, Adeal halted his thrashing and quieted. There was a stillness in the air, even with the howling of the wind, that had a palpable predatorial air. That sense of being watched has a way of penetrating any emotional condition, an evolutionary capability from eons long past. However, even though he was able to realize the danger rationally, his reaction was still governed by his neurotic mindset. Adeal drew his blaster and, aiming at nothing in particular, began firing wildly into the surrounding gloom. Of course, he hit nothing. This was just another, more violent form of the relief he was getting from beating the ground with his fists. Directly, all it did in the end was expend his Tibanna cartridge. After the dull ping of an ignition charge being emitted into an empty energizing chamber was all he received from about 2 dozen depressions of the trigger, he jammed another clip into his sidearm, which was incidentally the only extra one he had that was not destroyed along with his ship. Then he took off towards the city. Or he began to.

"That's exactly where you want me to go, isn't it?" Adeal asked the darkness. "To the city. To get me trapped in a maze. Where you're waiting." He wagged his finger at his faceless adversary, a twisted smile coming to his face. "Nice try, hunter. But not today." Deciding that he would prefer to face his fate where at least the locational odds would be even, Tam turned around and headed into the open fields past the wreckage of his ship. After he was perhaps 50 meters distant, a shadow stepped out from behind a larger section of what was left of the ship, and continued following his quarry.

The storm only got worse as Adeal moved deeper into Beviran's boonies. The rain was coming down in sheets now, blinding him to anything more than a few meters ahead or behind him. With sight failing him, the other senses began to try and compensate, none more ferociously than the pseudo-telesense that he had experienced while in deep space. He knew he was being followed again. Snapping his head around to look back every once in a while, despite the futility of it, he scanned for his pursuer.

"May the Force damn this place." He rasped between his ragged, heaving breaths as he looked back again. This time his glance coincided with a fork of lightning that hit the ground only a few clicks away. The blast of natural plasma illuminated the dark wall of water that surrounded Tam, and like a holo-flash, revealed a roughly humanoid shadow in the distance behind him. Adeal immediately un-holstered his blaster and brought it to bear, but by then the light had faded and he lost sight of the target. Figuring this might be his best chance to score a hit, he squeezed off a stream of energy bolts anyway. The red beams skirted off into the vastness, striking nothing before they disappeared from sight. In the brief moments they brightened the spot where the predator had been, Adeal once again saw only empty space. Growling something not even a protocol droid could have made sense of, the still running Tam turned his view back forward, just in time to see the pole he was irrevocably about to blunder into. He struck it with a muted thud, and stood motionless for a few seconds before falling backwards to the ground.

"Sithspawn!" he cursed, cupping the side of his cheek that had been driven into the unforgiving steel girder that seemed to simply sprout up from nowhere, his fury building as his luck once again betrayed him, as if things weren't arduous enough already. Now that he was looking, Adeal found that he had actually come across some sort of abandoned facility, an ore refinery by the looks of it. Though he had at first run away from such a place, the new factors coming against him in the extreme weather and the fact that he had not duped his opponent, changed his mind. This time Adeal welcomed the idea of enclosed spaces. While he was by no means a 'fighter,' Tam did understand odds quite well, and now that he knew a trap was not laid out before him, walls and a roof provided several advantages he did not have out in the elements. A; he would be out of the rain and thus able to see again. While whoever was following would have the same benefit, it occurred to Adeal that any bounty hunter worth his salt would likely be using some sort of thermal imaging system to trail him. And B; in hallways and narrow passageways, the far superior marksmanship of someone trained in the art of killing meant less than it would out in the open. It wasn't much, but Adeal would take it.

Springing to his feet, the fugitive dashed to the nearest entry way and into the building. He found himself in a long, dimly illuminated corridor, flanked on both sides with thick duraplast walls. Having only one direction to go, he fled deeper into the building, emerging on a catwalk that overhung a series of large holding tanks. The rusted metal groaning and screeching under his weight, he followed this to a stairwell that lead upwards out of the warehouse space into what looked like overhead office space. After climbing a single flight of stairs, Adeal entered a smaller hallway perpendicular to the catwalk. Directly across from where he stood was a staircase identical to the one he had just ascended. He could only assume it lead to a room just like the one behind him. Down the hall in each direction was a door leading into the observation decks. Tam quickly jogged to the door to the previous bay's operation room, having seen enough action holos to know that the high ground would give him possibly the only opportunity to have a true advantage over the hunter, rather than just slightly better chances of survival. But, as he tried the old fashioned knob, it turned out to be rusted closed. He tugged on it with all his might, but to no avail. After one final attempt to kick the door down ended with him feebly glancing off the surface of the doorframe, Adeal decided better of it. So he positioned himself at the top of the staircase, blaster drawn and trained at the stairwell's entryway. And he waited. Waited for the tell-tale shriek of footsteps on the ruinous catwalk.

But no such sound came. Only silence. It was chilling, even the thunder outside seemed to have stilled. Adeal held his position though. There was no other way for the bounty hunter to get to him. Or so he hoped... For what felt like forever there wasn't so much as a groan throughout the entire building. But then Adeal heard it. Not the racket he expected, but something much more subtle. If it wasn't for the very silence that permeated the building, he wouldn't have heard it at all. All that it was was a soft clink to his right. Followed by another. And one more, before it stopped. The sound came from behind the door he had just before tried to force open without success.

It was almost too late by the time Tam got wise to what the strange metallic click was, but when he did he threw himself down the staircase he had yet to navigate, seconds before the grenade that had been tossed against the inside of the office-room door exploded. The door was blown out of its frame and crashed into the wall across from it, cracking in half. The two pieces fell apart as the shadowy figure emerged from the room in an almost casual manner. Tam did not see this, however. He was already thundering down the other stairwell, and rushing out onto another dilapidated catwalk. This one was not up to supporting weight though, and the metal walkway sheared off the far side of the wall when Adeal was half way across, bucking him over the guardrail and sending him plummeting to the floor below. He landed hard and awkwardly on his left leg, which twisted and broke along the calf in a sickening crack.

He almost passed out from the pain, but somehow managed to stave off the darkness encroaching on the edges of his vision, and bit down on his lower lip, tears flowing freely from his eyes. Feebly, he continued his futile and quickly ending escape, pulling himself along the ground till he reached the far corner of the warehouse where a ladder beckoned. He pulled himself up on his one good leg, the other hanging uselessly beside. Mounting the ladder, he struggled up one rung at a time, until he was halfway up. But, the mental and physical exhaustion and the pain allowed him to go only so far, and his hand slipped as he grasped the next cross member. He flailed wildly on his single foot for a moment, and fell back to the ground. He again landed on his bad leg, and this time the fractured bone was forced through the skin. Adeal wasn't able to contain the scream this time, but even then he was so weak that all that escaped was a dry, pain-filled croak. He just lay where he fell, hope finally snuffed out completely.

He couldn't tell how long he rested there, time became impossible to keep track of with the pain wracking his body. All he was consciously aware of was the sound of footsteps approaching from his side. He fixated on it, each soft click of the sole one more step closer to his fate. He panned his eyes up in his skull, trying to get a look at his tormentor, but it was no use. The hunter was out of his field of vision, and he didn't want to shift to bring him into it. It would be a pointless gesture. But, he did notice one thing. His blaster, sitting within arm's reach of his body. Seeing the glistening gunmetal, calling out to him, drew up a last vestige of strength that even Tam didn't know he had, and somehow he reached out with his previously dead limbs and grabbed the weapon. He felt detached from his body as he rolled, over the exposed bone and all, and filled the space where he_ knew_ the hunter was with red plasma. Again the blaze of high intensity light filled his vision. Again, it stuck nothing. Sometime during his second trigger happy madness, Adeal re-entered his head, and stopped shooting before he was empty again.

This time he did not scream in frustration, but he wept. The hunter was a wraith. A wraith sent from the dark side of the force to punish him. Resistance was no use. Tam could simply not kill his pursuer. No more than he could escape the passage of time.

After chewing on him for the better part of his entire flight, the abyss of madness finally swallowed Tam. Having absolutely no control over what was happening to you, no matter what you did, no matter how hard you fought against it, has that effect on some beings. And in the insanity he realized something. The instrument of his punishment might well be invincible, but he, Adeal Tam, certainly was not. The sobbing turned to mirthless, insane laughter.

There was only one thing left for him to do. Only one escape. He knew why he had held back his last few blaster bolts now. Slowly, almost reverently, Tam turned the energy aperture toward himself. He might not live, but he would rob the hunter of the kill none the less.

"You lose, bounty hunter!" He cackled, before squeezing the trigger. A blast of light enveloped Adeal's face, and Tam let himself fall into the embrace of death.

As Adeal's vision cleared, he realized he wasn't sure what he expected of the afterlife, and found himself staring at own palms. But what he experienced certainly wasn't something he would have imagined even if he had thought about it before. Looking around, the surroundings had not changed. And, in shifting, the white hot pain of his broken tibia still filled his leg. Then he saw his blaster, a smoking hole in the middle of it, lying on the ground to his left. And looking up, he found an all-too-alive partner. Then the weeping returned. The other half of Beviran's finest hour had finally revealed himself.

The darkened T visor of Boba Fett's blast helmet betrayed no sign of satisfaction in another successful hunt, no hint of concern that he might have missed the critical shot to prevent the 'Alive' price from escaping him. It showed no indication of any feelings whatsoever. Just the cold reflection of Tam's own psychotically distorted features. His metallic, soulless voice enhanced his absolute detachment from the world around him.

"Adeal Tam, a bounty has been placed on your head for the embezzlement of the personal funds of Kavak the Hutt and the theft of one of his personal pleasure craft. You will be returned to him to make reparations."

Then, Fett brought his EE-3 carbine up and Tam's last moment of consciousness saw him engulfed in the blue rings of a stun blast. With a tick of his head, Fett signalled Slave 1, and directed its droid brain to pilot the ship to his location. Then the Mandalorian bound the bounty's wounded leg and prepared his limp body for transport out of the building. The roar of Slave 1's engines indicated its arrival, and Fett hoisted Adeal over his shoulder.

"Unfortunately Tam, I never lose." The bounty hunter said to his cataleptic quarry before he engaged his jetpack. It wasn't arrogance, it was just a fact. No one ever beat Boba Fett.

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Just a little teaser/test to see how my style is perceived, and lay a little foreshadowing (look one line up). The plot will begin in earnest in the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own none of this.

So, I haven't updated for about a month. It's crunch time in uni, and I decided I should at least kinda focus on that. But since one of my readers asked so nicely, I decided I'd have one last hurra here before descending into the hell of exams. Enjoy. and R&R.

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Chapter Two: A Test of Speed and Endurance

_Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold..._

A simple mantra to learn, but oh so difficult to master. The words and the physical actions, the most natural actions of all for a living human, belied the difficulty of what the meditation was supposed to do. It had been the first thing taught to Mara Jade, engrained since before she could remember.

"_Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Find rhythm, Mara. That's better. Look into yourself. Find your passion. Focus on it. Let it course through your body, and your mind. It is your ally. It is your strength. Without it, you are nothing. Without it, you are weak."_

Weak. Something that Mara had promised herself she would never be again. Her parents had been weak. A mother and father were meant to protect their offspring, to ensure their safety and security. To shield them from the harshness of reality until they were ready to stand on their own feet. Mara's parents had failed her before she could even remember their faces, left her behind to face an unforgiving galaxy helpless and alone. They had left her weak, as they had been. Years lost in the dark, dirty orphanages of her home world, suffering an existence so bleak and frightening that even as a grown woman she could not bear to remember without quivering. Unable to protect herself, unable to escape. She loathed herself for not being stronger. But that was before Emperor Palpatine found her.

Her master had saved her from that toxic environment, both without and within. He took her away, fed and clothed her sickly, frail body, and healed her broken mind; strengthened it, sharpened it. Protected her, and taught her to protect herself. He took something that had been made sub-human, and returned to her her value, her self-worth. He rekindled the wavering spirit dwelling within the small, vulnerable red-headed shell and built it into a roaring flame. And now, from years under his tutelage, Mara was a warrior. Never to be helpless again, and a force to prevent the same sad existence that had befallen her. She was almost skillful enough join the elite group of instruments known as the Emperor's Hands, a commission she had been promised, and coveted for almost as long as she had known how to meditate. As a Hand, she would be charged to remove the corrupt and deceitful elements not in line with the New Orders way of life. She would make a difference, work to bring the galaxy to a brighter future where the rule of law and security of the citizenry was paramount, unlike the opulence and self-serving grandeur of the Old Republic.

This is why she found herself in the room she did, a dark, open space in the bowls of the Imperial Palace. Until the day that her master declared her fit, she would train relentlessly after that goal. It was her purpose, her destiny. To repay the Emperor for the kindness and generosity he had shown her by dedicating herself to his grand vision.

The room was still, her steady breathing the only sound echoing in the cavernous hall. Her training program allowed nothing to be estimated in advance of battle; she did not know where the attack would come from, or when, or by what force. The room could deaden all but the most shrill or thunderous of sounds, or fill itself with such a clamour that balance became difficult; was capable of recycling air at such a rate that not even the smell of her own sweat could be discerned, or piping in a stench that could make a Dianoga blanch. Depending on the luck of the draw, temperature could mirror the frigidness of a glacial plane, jungle humidity and heat, all the way to the far extreme of a desert wasteland. And the lighting, though dark now, was at times restricted only enough to prevent permanent blindness. Beyond setting the difficulty level, it was all determined by a sophisticated droid brain, to test every aspect of her skill. So, she sat in the middle of the room meditating, waiting for the exercise to begin. She had been here for one hour and twenty two minutes already, not moving a muscle, simply basking in the ebb and flow of the Force. It would tell her when to rise.

Every day she would wade a little deeper into that vast ocean, and each time she was able to fathom a measure more of how much there was yet to be discovered and experienced. A single step farther away from the shore revealed another light year of open sea on the horizon, and she could only imagine the infinity of wisdom that the Emperor commanded when he communed with the Force. What better man to lead the galaxy?

Finally, she felt a tremor traverse the vast intangible expanse bore of life itself, and in the instant after she received the warning, she had unfolded herself from her sitting position, drawn and ignited the violet blade of her lightsaber, deflected the crimson blaster bolt harmlessly away. Only afterword did her emerald-irised eyes snap open, any clear image of which was immediately lost as she cart-wheeled over three more blasts. From there, she seamlessly dropped into a roll, deflecting a further two plasma charges, one directly into the chest of her attacker. When one of her opponents began firing down her path, she sprung back vertical, spinning on the flats of her feet, severing one of her as of yet unidentified enemies through the torso, and sending another two energy bolts back to their senders.

For the first time, Mara had a moment to visually survey her adversaries. Eighteen Clone War-era Super Battledroids, four of which were already lying in smouldering heaps on the floor. These were, of course, not the same tactically useless models that were destroyed in droves by the Clone Troopers decades ago. Each had a separate, highly developed control module that made each of them a dangerous, unpredictable, tireless killing machine. Modern augmentations made them faster, stronger, more agile, and seemingly more murderous, if it was indeed possible for the emotionless hulks of metal. Their aggression was controlled by the central computer, one of the major factors that was determined by the difficulty level, along with the extent to which they pushed their physical limitations. Training at stage ten, which was not quite the highest degree of difficulty, still left the droid's disposition at roughly that of a starving Wampa. There was no mistake to be made, even with the powerful assistance of the Force, this opposition was nothing to be laughed at.

The moment was fleeting, the droids efficiently re-organizing, completely ignorant to the languishing piles of rubble that were moments ago their comrades. Mara brought the glowing energy blade up into the basic fencing stance, inclined slightly away from her face, waiting for their next move. The far flanks of the blue tinged war machines opened up first, then sequentially the next droid inward carried the volley, forcing her to swing her lightsaber back and forth across her body, the rapidity of the vector shifts making offensive deflection more difficult. After the initial barrage reached the middle two droids, the pattern of fire randomized, while the outside droids moved outward, stretching her motions. Spreading themselves out made charging them an unforgiving prospect, as she could only effectively strike at most three in one motion, but it did allow her the advantage of opening up undefended corridors in their suppression fire. She quickly stepped up into one of these seams, and deflected a reactionary blast from the Battledroid nearest to her, making it count.

In that one action, Mara changed the entire situation, as she now stood in between the two ranks of droids. Their earlier brothers would not have hesitated continuing the waves of blaster fire, destroying one another in the process, but these droids were smarter. The row behind her broke, rushing to the sides while the other half charged her. Once the area behind her was clear, the Supers in front of her resumed firing. Dodging again, the young woman sprung towards the left group of her re-organizing opponents. She caught the trailing two, cleaving them into pieces as she passed. Reaching out with the Force, she knocked a third to the ground, leaping towards it, flipping herself upside down and hoisting her lightsaber over her head. Landing headfirst atop the metallic body, she drove the energy blade into its chest before it could regain its feet. Then Mara somersaulted from that pose back erect, and re-assessed the field. The odds now sat at ten to one, with the remaining droids having united across the room from her. They stood relatively still, almost as if the destruction of almost half their number had frightened them.

The thrill of combat ran through Mara's veins like it had replaced her blood. With every throb of her heart, the force seemed to get stronger, more tangible. If not for secondary training in controlling the outward expression of emotion, an ear to ear smile would have sat on her face, and there was a good chance laughter would have pierced the overall quiet of the room. Nothing made her feel so alive as to fight for her survival, to take her existence into her own hands and to sweat for it. After not being in control for so many years, she revelled in having nothing between her and death but her own skill and desire. She was making up for stolen time.

Whatever the cause of the droid's hesitation, it disappeared as quickly as it began, and they sprung to action again. Charging once more, this time they did not bother with their blasters. Their mechanical legs accelerated them up to an inhuman speed, and it seemed that at one moment they were standing 25 meters distant, and the next they were crashing into Mara's lightsaber. She cut the first two down easily, but the third managed to drive its body into her as she decapitated it. She hit the ground hard, nearly becoming trapped below its heavy metal frame. Barely managing to roll out from under the falling robot, Mara immediately found herself bracketed by renewed blasterfire. She deflected the deadly blasts as best she could from on her back, struggling to regain her feet after the jarring fall. Once she did, she lunged at the nearest droid, swiping at it before spinning back into another defensive stance. But this time in a display of dexterity Mara had never seen before, the droid sidestepped the attack, and drove a hardened duranium fist into her side. This forced the woman to wildly adjust her follow-through to protect against the retaliatory blasts that she had not planned for, and left her breathless, with perhaps a set of broken ribs for good measure. She was off-balance and completely defensive, while the Battledroids advanced in perfect formation. She needed a moment to collect herself, but that was a moment she did not have. So, in desperation, she heaved her lightsaber like a boomerang, grasping the hilt with the Force to guide it.

One thing that even the advanced computerized minds with hundreds of years of combined battle knowledge could not predict or understand was moves of desperation. And because of this, they were ill equipped to dodge the blind move, and the sabre ripped itself through six of the last seven droids before the last one reacted. However, when it did, it once again re-defined what Mara thought the machine was capable of. It projected itself over 6 metres into the air, spinning, and landed behind her. Jade twisted on her heel, only to have her throat snagged by one of the robot's unforgiving mandible. It quickly lifted her off the ground, and nearly as quickly she found her vision closing. She tried to knock the hand away, but her already weakened body could do little against the unremitting metal appendage.

She was left with one chance, and she focused her mind on her now deactivated lightsaber. She didn't know where it was, all she had was a picture of it in her mind. She imagined it flying through the air in her palm, slicing through the last Battledroid. She held onto that image, until her mind went blank.

(o) (O) (o)

Mara awoke in back in her quarters, with the Emperor sitting at her bedside. He was smiling, but for what reason she did not know. She had botched a simple training exercise; the fact that she was in the room now meant that the Emperor had had to rescue her yet again. She felt ashamed.

"Worry not, my child." The Emperor laughed, sensing her feelings. "You felled the last droid on your own. I must say, after resetting the training program to level twelve I expected you would succeed, but even I could not foresee the voracity that you displayed in manipulating the force on the verge of unconsciousness." He paused for a moment. "You are to be proud, not ashamed. You did well. Well enough to finally serve me as my Emperor's Hand."

Mara was shocked at his joviality. Even as she grasped at the last bastions of awareness as the Battledroid strangled the life out of her, she had thought of the disappointment her master would feel at her failure. But it seemed that in actuality he had decided to test her, and she had passed, even if she did not remember. Not only passed, but had impressed him, and as a result, he offered her her greatest desire. The shame, though still present, was overpower by a swelling of her already ample admiration of the man seated at her side. He gave so much to her, and finally she had the opportunity to show that his kindness had not been wasted. The Emperor also sensed this, and smiled again, before continuing.

"There is but one final test. You must go to the planet Marinet. Wait there. Your final challenge will arrive, and when you defeat him, you will have proven yourself worthy of the position you have yearned for and deserve so much. Rest now. This trial will be unlike anything you have experienced before, and will require all of your skill."

The young woman nodded sombrely, keeping herself under control, even as her insides churned with excitement. The Emperor rose, and walked to the door, sparing her one final smile before leaving her in darkness. It took a few minutes for Mara to calm herself enough to finally fall asleep. It was in her grasp, all that she had worked for. No one would stop her now.

(o) (O) (o)

Just over an hour after setting down, the distinctive hull of Slave I rose from the clouds of Kar-Nil, capital of Kavak the Hutt's criminal empire, its master having finished conducting his business there. The resolution of contract had been an acceptable one for Boba Fett, though it had necessitated something of an excessively long time frame to conduct. Had it been a regular hunt, Fett could have reeled Tam in in well under three day's time, but Kavak had stipulated that to receive the full bounty, he wanted a certain degree of mental and emotional trauma to be exerted on the subject before bringing him in. Fett knew Kavak, having picked up a few choice bounties put out by the Hutt, and he grasped his reasoning. Like most members of his species, Kavak had the combination of an uncontrollable temper, and an extremely deep blood lust. This often meant that in his rage, he would kill the prisoner before he had extracted enough pleasure in their suffering to satisfy him. Then he would have to resort to killing several of his henchmen, whose only relation to the original focus of his anger was being unlucky enough to be in a nearby room at the time. Of course, it was not concern for their lives that Kavak had decided to have a professional soften the object of his vengeance before hand, but the fact that employee's willing to work for him were becoming increasingly difficult to find.

The Hutt had been delighted when Fett dragged the writhing, out of his mind Adeal Tam into his throne room, so much so that he hardly haggled about the price, and even overlooked the destruction of his stolen ship. In fact, Kavak had offered a bonus, extending him full accommodations at his palace for as long as he liked, including the services of Fett's pick of the gangster's pleasure staff. The Mandalorian declined, of course. While his profession inextricably placed him in their world, Fett did not have the tastes of those to whom he leased his skill. Contrary to the opinion of 99 percent of the galaxy, Fett did not enjoy killing. He merely saw it as a tool, a necessity of maintaining order and justice across the stars. And yes, it conflicted with the 'legitimate' system, but that was an organization mired in such corruption and double-dealing than it made the activities of the Hutt's look honourable. It was a farce that they considered themselves the moral authority in the galaxy.

Ethical implications aside, time was credits. Other than Jabba, most of the pleasure-minded criminal bosses did not understand that the only thing that constituted suitable compensation for Fett's time was hard currency. Relaxation, of any kind, was no different than burning credits in the bounty hunter's mind. So, unless host was willing to pay him to stay, he moved on.

The decision to go to orbit was a calculated one. The longer he remained on the ground, the more thorough the sounding of his ship for tracking devices and sabotage would have to be. Flavours of paranoia not-withstanding, Fett knew he had legions of enemies and would-be rivals in every rim, and they would be more than willing to make an attempt on his life. So he had left once it became apparent that all forms of worthwhile employment had been exhausted.

As soon as Slave I had reached orbit, Fett manoeuvred the Firespray Patrol Class ship into the rings that surrounded Kar-Nil. It would grant him an excellent degree of cover, allowing him to go about several ship-keeping exercises in peace. Though hyperspace was the ideal place for this sort of thing, it restricted contact with the galaxy, which could mean missing out on new contracts. And that was unacceptable.

After setting the navigation computer to station keeping just above a large piece of debris, Fett went about activating the auto sentry system, programming the HoloNet relay to pipe any interesting comm. traffic into his helmet, and computing an alert jump co-ordinate. He also adjusted the environmental controls below decks, before he unbuckled, and went into the lower hold of the ship.

After climbing down through the hatch and sealing it, the Mandalorian kicked off from the ladder. But, instead of falling the meter and a half to the floor below, he floated across the room, completely weightless. Fett took a few instants to stretch, the contortions much smoother than one saw in a gravity well, then pushed himself down to the weapons locker, removing an assortment of blasters and kinetic firearms before returning to the geometric center of the cabin.

The lack of artificial gravity was intentional, the result of the final string of commands he fed the life support computer before leaving the cockpit. Zero-G was something few experienced since the advent of grav-plating centuries ago, modern systems having become so refined and widespread that they were almost universal, and among the last systems to fail on a dying starship. Fighting in micro-gravity was a lost art, and a completely different experience from standard planetary conditions. Because of the difficulty's it presented, Fett's had made one of his boarding defence protocols a shipwide deactivation of artificial gravity. For the advantage of leaving the boarding parties flailing in midair, likely amongst their own vomit, Fett allotted a set amount of time for himself to operate in a gravityless environment once ever so often. In addition, a completely unintended side-effect of this action was it happened to be a very effective method of relieving strained and knotted muscles, something that even the supremely fit bounty hunter had to deal with.

Disassembling one of the collection of weapons he had brought along, Fett allowed himself to fall into a Mandalorian meditative trance. Unlike many forms of meditation, which were based around static poses, the ancient technique from his race's home planet was a dynamic exercise. Instead of focusing one's self in the mental realm by shutting out all exterior senses, this method encouraged interaction with the practitioners surroundings to a very high degree. In effect, instead of trying to maximize concentration on a singular point, the trance exercised the mind by forcing a user to multi-task, training him or her to be able to turn their attention to several activities at once with little to no loss in co-ordination. For a warrior race, that skill was a valued one, and Fett had on more than one occasion utilized it to great success.

At the moment, the meditation allowed him to clean and calibrate a Bastech R-12 armour-piercing infantry blaster cannon while at the same time scan through the diagnostic checks Slave I was currently running, as well as sift through the radio chatter on three different bands of HoloNet broadcast for key words and phrases that might lead to a transaction. After about half an hour he finished with the R-12, and moved on to another rifle. Nothing particularly interesting had come over the wire as of yet, and Slave I's reports so far indicated nothing amiss with the ship's systems, and unless one of those two conditions changed he would continue, quite possibly for several hours. This was not due to any ability of the trance to accelerate the perceived passage of time; on the contrary it made the person using it incrementally more aware of each passing second, but simply because of the efficiency it allowed. And to the hunter, efficiency was far and away the most important tendency any being could posses.

Exactly four hours, thirteen minutes and 47 seconds, and nine weapons after beginning, something finally caught Boba Fett's attention. It was not the random mention of a bounty being placed, nor the discovery of an unknown device somewhere on Slave I's hull, but a direct communiqué funnelled to one of the multiple proxy HoloNet accounts he maintained. It was not the fact that the proxy was being used; he had a select group of long-time, high-paying clients whom he had granted access to one or two of the secretive private communication lines. It was the fact that the message came along a priority Imperial military channel, a heavily encoded signal using encryption algorithms normally reserved for only the most confidential of transmissions. In fact, no one outside the Imperial Admiralty was supposed to even be able to recognise the code, much less have the capacity to translate it. Fett had ways of obtaining access to valuable sources of data like that, however. In the bounty hunting business having the best information translated into being a step ahead of one's opponents, and being abreast of Imperial fleet movements definitely qualified as valuable intel.

High level Imperial channels usually meant Vader. And Vader usually meant a lucrative business opportunity. Good enough for his consideration at the very least, so Fett stowed his work, and returned to the cockpit. He transitioned from weightlessness as he entered the standard operating conditions of his ship without so much as a pause, the training obviously worthwhile. He sat, and brought up the still-active link, checking the source before opening it. The immediate transmission site was a Victory class Star Destroyer named the _Ardent Bow_ on patrol in the Middle-Rim sector of Caliss. Fett wasn't fooled for a second into thinking that someone who had access to the Class One Imperial code would be on-board a craft as unprestegious as a Victory, so he used another piece of illicitly garnered technology that no one outside of Imperial Intelligence was supposed to have, and hacked past the relay firewall, searching for the original source. After a few moments, he had traced the signal back to Coruscant. Satisfied, Fett opened the link. However, instead of the familiar skull-shaped mask of the Dark Lord of the Sith, Fett was met with a thin, weasel-faced Imperial communications officer, ranked Commander.

"It would do to answer an Imperial summons with more haste, bounty hunter." He sniped, not even bothering to disguise the contempt in his voice. As with most Imperials, it seemed this man was averse to utilizing the services of his profession, though, again like his fellow Imperials, he did not have the conviction to maintain this distain when it suited him to ignore it.

"State your business." He replied evenly, unable to find the desire to care about the opinion of this hypocritical soldier. Fett grinned inside his helmet as the officer's rodent-like features contorted at the abrupt but detached tone, certain he wanted nothing more than to make some comment about what made him believe he was on equal terms with a member of the Imperial Navy.

To the man's credit he muscled it down. "The Emperor demands your presence at the Imperial Palace. He desires to discuss a bounty which calls for your... singular talents and expertise."

"A personal consult will cost fifteen thousand credits."

This time the Commander couldn't contain his consternation at Fett's response. "I don't think you heard me correctly, scum. You have been issued a directive from the Emperor. You will obey, and then if his Excellency so chooses, he may reward you for your service."

"His Excellency's credits spend the same as any other credits. If he requires my skill, he will abide by the same terms as any other client."

At this, the officer's dismay turned to outrage. "How dare you..."

Tiring of the conversation, Fett cut him off before he could finish. "Unless there is anything else, I will await the consultation fee. You may send it to this account." He paused for a moment and sent a text-code transmission along the datastream. "It will be open for one hour. An ETA will be forwarded upon completion of the transaction. If I do not receive the payment in that time, you will have to inform the Emperor that he must find another hunter."

Then, the Mandalorian cut the transmission. Negotiating with Imperial military was often hopeless, but playing on their fear of their superiors was a weak point that was easy to exploit. As soon as the thought that disappointing the Emperor was introduced, the officer's aggressive expression had broken into one of barely concealed fear. To save himself from a swift execution for failing his master, the man would wire the credits and ensure Fett would show up.

Sure enough, less than ten minutes later fifteen thousand Imperial credits were transferred into the account he had forwarded. Calculating the time Slave I would require to make the trip, he reciprocated the transmission with the ETA, and then programmed the co-ordinates for Imperial Center into the nav-computer.

After jumping to hyperspace, Fett went back down into the lower cabin. It would be over a day before he reached Coruscant, and there were still plenty of blasters yet to receive maintance.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 2

I do not own any of the intellectual property utilized in the creation of this story. They are trademarks of Lucas Film, and all the other official contributers to the Star Wars universe. No profit shall be made from this work.

Long time no see everyone. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait. Please review!

* * *

Chapter Two: The Merits of a Pawn

The drop from hyperspace and subsequent cruise into orbit of Imperial Center followed Fett's precise timetable to the minute. The arrival in upper stratosphere revealed the endless lines of air trams stretching across the sky, carrying the millions upon millions of beings that came and went from the planet-wide metropolis on any given moment. Obeying the transit guidelines, flying the designated space lanes and reporting to customs took the better part of a day; a waste of anyone's time, even more so for a man always on the chronometer like he was. Ask even the shrewdest of Corillia's smugglers, Imperial Center was a place you planned to follow the rules of arrival whenever possible. It was a fortress, where on the best of days with all the advantages of paid off traffic controllers and false registrations you stood a 70 percent chance of being captured and "relocated" to Kessel. It had more layers of security than even a Hutt on a spice fuelled trip of psychotic paranoia would consider, enough manpower to overpower twelve core systems through sheer attrition, and certainly enough dark holes to lose a fleet's worth of people in, let alone one man. Never mind when his flight plan took him to the Imperial Palace, where all of this was taken to another power.

However, abiding these guidelines hadn't even crossed the mind of the Mandalorian bounty hunter. He had made this trip dozens of times before, sometimes to open a deal, sometimes to close it. When it came to doing work for the very peak echelons like Vader, and now the Emperor, it was to be expected. Questions would be asked if the galaxies most notorious member of the blue-collar underworld was to show up at the entrance hall of the seat of galactic governance. Questions that of course would be answered with a blaster to the one who asked them, but were an irritation that no parties involved wanted to deal with none the less.

The flight portion wasn't much of a bother anymore anyway. With the proper ship, the in-atmosphere micro-jump to the lower levels of the cityscape was the only real challenge, but with practice it was doable. After that it was just a matter of being able to escape the sensor webs and knowing the patrol routes of the hundred thousand odd Probe-droids that combed below the fog layer, something Fett had spent a sizable fortune outfitting Slave I to be capable of.

On foot was something of a different story, though. A building was unlike a planet, walls could not simply be sidestepped and doorways were choke points where enough active and passive defenses could be stuffed that even Fett could not circumvent them. What he could do, though, was confuse the hell out of them.

Like any hardened facility, the palace could be self-contained for an extended period of time. And that required several things. Stores for food and water were one. Machinery for waste disposal and power generation were others. And the components of said machinery had attracted one particular species of fauna that could aid him in avoiding the multitudes of security measures.

Mynoks, bane of many a freighter captain, inhabited the Imperial Palace's miles of underground catacombs in droves, held at bay by ultrasonic sound barriers erected just below the topside building's foundation. With the vast majority of Mynoks, this flock's ancestor's included, eons ago becoming creatures of soundless deep space usually these simple audio fields were more than enough to keep them contained. A cruel trick of biological adaptation, the animals had acclimatized to silence faster than their physiology could rid itself of the apparatus of hearing; even with the significantly devolved ears they had, reintroduction to high frequency sound was excruciating to them. In the early days, before these systems had not been in place, the parasitical organisms had moved in and feasted on the many technological implements above. Now, though they no longer had access to the palace, they still lived in the caves below. Normally, they stayed far away from the corridors leading up into the building, but only as long as the area they were in was more hospitable than the fields. For now, it was. That was something Fett aimed to change.

Before ascending to where Slave I now hovered, at one of the lower maintenance hatchways, he had set up a simple but powerful sonic resonator in one of the few inlets to the caves at the base of the mountain the palace was constructed upon. When he activated it, it would turn the entire network of caverns that the Mynoks currently occupied into a massive, supercharged Kloo Horn. This in turn would whip the Mynoks into a frenzy, driving them out of the catacombs, through the now less-agonizing containment grid and into the palace, where the sound would not be as intense.

It was in that chaos that Fett would make his entrance. Even the very cream of the technological crop could not be depended on when, instead of the one expected life-form breached the building, tens of thousands did. Further assisting in his ease-of-access, the Mynoks could be trusted to follow their instincts and immediately begin seeking out and eating through any high-energy conduits, defeating even more of the obstacles in his way. And once passed the initial entrance sensors, it was more a matter of time than evasion to reach Palpatine.

Using Slave I's specialized docking clamps, Fett secured his ship under a natural overhang of the plateau the palace sat atop, and powered down. In the soup surrounding it, the ship was virtually invisible on standby, nothing more than a vein of durasteel in the rocky facade to the non-active scans of the probe-droids. He kept his weapon load-out light, but not depleted; Palpatine was a customer, not a target, but he would put nothing past the Sith master.

Exiting his craft, Fett engaged his booster pack and rose to the walkway leading up to his selected point of ingress. He approached the doorway until he was at the edge of the invisible detection cone his helmet electronic counter-measures had displayed for him, and activated the resonator. It took only a moment for the Mynoks to react and pour into the lower levels of the palace, the sound of flapping wings quickly becoming so powerful that it permeated the thick blast-door and spilled out onto the causeway he stood on. As expected, the orange approximation of the sensor field outside the door flickered and died in short order, as the central computer directed its attention inwards and tried to make sense of the mass of life-forms that had just appeared seemingly out of no-where. Although he couldn't see it, the Mandilorian knew that as soon as this happened, the Mynoks would be drawn to the increased power-flow to the sensor pods inside and tear them to bits. Wasting no time, Fett strode to the blast door and spliced into its card-pad, overriding the lock with ease with its anti-hacking protocols similarly slowed by the overload of data else-ware in the computer system. After minimal coaxing, the door slipped open, and Boba Fett made his way into the crazed passage before him.

(o) (O) (o)

Between the utilitarian base floors and the opulently appointed executive levels, the only delays were brief and unthreatening. The first wave of guards that trooped out of the palace's barracks had received only sketchy reports of a massive invasion faction flooding into the fortress, and expected to meet such a group in a brute, force-on-force encounter. This mindset conspired to make Fett's stealthy traversing of the palace relatively easy, having only to duck into side-halls or door arches to avoid detection. In a counter-intuitive way, the areas that held the most 'valuable' individuals were easiest to penetrate, the checkpoints and lock-down hatches far too ugly and discomforting to the regal autocrats that lived and worked in these areas. Naturally, there were some security measures, rare and hard to maintain anti-personnel force-fields controlled directly from the Emperor's throne room. But they were not a threat. Palpatine was expecting him.

Finding the Emperor's central hall was simple in the panic-emptied upper passages, all Fett needed to do was follow the increasingly large sculptures. The main door was unmistakable, 10 meters tall, its face carved of Alderanian oak set with enough precious metals to pay for a Star Destroyer. Behind the plush exterior, siege locks that apparently were strong enough to stand in the way of an AT-AT walker could slide into place with the push of a button, creating yet another fortress within the fortress. Of course, instead of sealing, the door swung open as he approached, welcoming the saboteur in.

The first thing that struck the bounty hunter when he entered was not the impressive artistry carved into the gothic style pillars, nor the hand cut skylight; the majesty of the room would be lost to him on any day, such a grand showing of wealth and power was not Fett's style. Rather, it was the silence of the room. Even through his audio-enhancements the chamber was dead to sound. It was exactly the same stillness with which he preyed upon his targets, a peacefulness reserved only for the dead. Thus, he was not surprised when the doors that had so serenely allowed him access slammed shut with speed that conflicted their gargantuan size, or when the artificial lighting died. He didn't flinch; moving first against adversaries that in any way were able to emulate him would have meant certain death. Instead, he waited. His night vision and thermal augmentations revealed nothing in his surroundings, but that did not ease his suspicion. Machines could be tricked; he had just proven as much with his arrival to this room. With the literal blink of an eye he deactivated all of his helmet's audio-video enhancements, and depended solely on his own birth-granted senses. Those he could depend on, even with a force-user as powerful as the Emperor present.

The only warning of the coming attack was a faint whistling through the air, but it was enough for him to bring up his guard. He ducked under the first of two force pikes, grabbing the second at the hilt just below the blade as it plunged towards his torso. Before his assailants could press into the next range of attacks, the bounty hunter brought his jump pack online, shooting himself into the air along the trajectory of the elongated hilt he grasped, sending his armored shoulder into the face of its owner as he took to the air, carrying the melee weapon along with him. Over the whine of the miniature rocket engine, he heard the other man fall to the ground under the force of the jet wash before he reached the nearest pillar. Fett deactivated the thrust an instant before he crashed into the column, spun himself around in mid-air and flared his legs backwards, so when he made contact the momentum drove the spiked toes of his boots into the stone. In the moment that the inertia allowed him to balance in this awkward position, he slammed the captured staff into the column as well, stabilising himself 15 meters above his would-be assassins.

Now that they had revealed their position, the darkness was useless camouflage for the two men picking themselves up off the floor below, the red garbs they wore nothing if not conspicuous. Imperial Guardsmen, the elite of the elite in the endless hordes of the empire's military, warriors even the 501st feared. Masters of marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat and in the use of martial weapons, completely loyal, ready to die at a moment's notice. Boba Fett had never faced off against one of their select number before, but what he had heard had impressed him, which was more than could be said for most of the supposed terrors of the galaxy. They were good, yes. But he was better.

The guards knew enough to disregard any idea of fading back and trying to regain the element of surprise, and instead stood their ground, the one whom Fett had relieved of his weapon drawing a blaster pistol and taking aim. Before he had an opportunity to shoot, however, Fett allowed himself to drop from his high purchase, drawing his own sidearm and firing a razor-straight line of bolts towards his adversaries as he fell. To the credit of their training, other than the first beam striking its target on the trigger hand of his dueling opponent, they dodged pinpoint strikes with the deftness of Jedi Knights.

When he reached the floor, a short burst from his jump pack arrested his fall, and he landed in a run, using another rocket-assist to shoot him across the room. He again ploughed through the weapon-less guard, sending him flailing to the ground as he pressed on to his more threatening partner. Once he was in close enough to lower the likelihood of his foe deflecting a bolt of plasma off his force pike, Fett raised his blaster. He didn't expect to make use of it; it was just a distraction to get himself in close enough to grapple, so he wasn't surprised when the weapon was sliced in half by the guard's vibro weapon. In fact, it was a turn of good fortune. The worst case would have seen the guard cut through the hunter's arm, but at the speed he was moving it would have been impossible even for a Jedi Master. However it still would have been better for the Imperial had he struck the gun with the flat of his blade, knocking it out of the hunter's hand rather than leave half of it still in his possession, because half a blaster could still be a dangerous implement. Without slowing his upswing, Fett brought the ruined weapon to the guard's face and depressed the trigger. With the energizing chamber cleaved in half, the tibanna could not become excited enough to shift into the fourth phase of matter and form what was colloquially referred to as a blaster bolt, but the gas was certainly volatile enough to ignite as it left the weapon, sending a fireball hot enough to melt lead directly into the soldier's faceplate. The man fell almost instantly, writing in pain on the floor for only a few seconds before the flames engulfed his body and he became still.

Fett began to turn to take care of his other challenger when a voice, mechanically disguised much like his own spoke up from behind him.

"Halt."

Evidently able to convalesce fast than he had anticipated, Fett could sense that the remaining guard had trained his recovered firearm on his back. Not willing to attempt a dodge without seeing the position of his attacker, the Mandilorian obliged, holding steady.

"Drop the weapon." The man continued, a touch of shakiness penetrating his gravely-tone.

"Very well." Fett replied, tossing his mutilated pistol to the side. It was useless now anyway, the exposed firing mechanisms melted after the last discharge. In a show of compliance, he raised his arms and placed them on his head, and slowly spun to face the other being.

Had the roles been reversed, Fett would have gunned his target down without bothering with the conversation. But for all their training, in fact probably because of it, even the Royal Guard would make any attempt at impressing their master. If he were foolish enough to bet his credits, Fett would wager that the soldier wanted to present him as a live trophy to the Emperor. Like fear, Imperial pride was a weakness easily exploited.

When Fett completed his turn and was able to see the full build of his 'captor,' he examined him for a moment. As he had predicted, the Guard held his blaster, though in his other hand, the dominant one hanging limply at his side. Even their substantial skill, Fett felt confident he could avoid the blasts from the man's weak hand, but he didn't have to. From this position, the prideful man was as good as dead. Yet, they had fought a reasonably good fight, so Fett decided to impart a small quantity of acumen before he fully dispatched the pair.

"A piece of advice should we meet again in another life, Guardsman. Next time, just shoot me."

At the moment he finished his sentence, the Guard stiffened and fell. His demise was even more swift that his partner's, passing on before he had hit the floor. Bending slightly, Fett re-calibrated the dart projector on his left knee, correcting for the slight error in aim that had sent the barb into the man's jugular vein rather than his carotid artery; the cause of the slight delay that allowed the small spasm before the toxin had struck its victim nervous system.

On cue, the lighting came back on, and his helmet toned, indicating that the jamming devices in the room had been deactivated and that its internal systems were powering back up. Simultaneously, the sound of soft clapping began to emanate from the head of the room.

"Most impressive, bounty hunter." Applaud the Emperor from this throne, atop a wide, staired platform. "Well done. Come forward."

A test. Not unexpected, considering the company he was presently in. Most high-roller clients weren't satisfied until they had some personal proof of his hunting prowess; he didn't take it as an insult, it was just part of promoting himself. But that usually took the form of a lower-value hunt; calculatedly sacrificing personal guards was unusually callous, even amongst criminals... and a gratuitous waste of valuable resources. Even Vader was not so distant from his troops to use them in such a way. The warrior spirit passed down to him from his father shuddered. A leader was responsible for the lives of his men, it was his duty to them for their allegiance. Forsaking that obligation was enough to disgrace even the most glorious victory. But emotion did not determine which hunts he undertook.

"The price of that blaster will be added to my fee." Fett replied as he approached, stopping at the bottom of the podium. The Emperor was shorter than as he seemed when he appeared on the holo-net, but the subtraction in stature had no effect on his threatening aura. Even as the galactic ruler played at being cordial, the room seemed to crackle with a current that could only be described as evil.

"Of course, of course. I apologize for that unpleasant business, I just needed to see that your capabilities are in line with what this particular assignment will require of you."

"Who is the target?"

"Don't you want to know the size of the bounty first?"

"That information won't be necessary until I have decided the hunt is worthy of my attention."

The suggestion that he might not accept the commission, even after coming all this way seemed to give the Emperor pause. But, he recovered quickly, sighing heavily.

"Very well. Bear in mind your... professional discretion... is of importance in this matter."

Fett nodded. Secrecy was generally an unspoken understanding with the nature of these dealings.

"The person I require retrieved is named Mara Jade. Human female, red hair, green eyes. I will provide more personal information on her once you have agreed to take on the bounty. Up until two days ago, she had been in training to serve as a special espionage and elimination agent."

"A Hand?" Fett questioned, the suggestion actually surprising him. Like the Imperial Guards, the legendary Empire's Hand's were supposedly unquestioning in their loyalty.

"Yes." Palpatine replied, nodding. "However, she became... disillusioned. I believe an incident on her home planet of Krstalnyr that is to blame. An accident, where a town was unfortunately destroyed in a clash between Rebel and Imperial forces. The commander of the Stormtrooper battalion was over-thorough apparently, and assumed that the rebellion's presence indicated widespread sympathisers, a supposition that has been since proven false. Sadly, members of her family were present, and her belief in the New Order was shaken substantially. She began to question certain aspects of the training, and when it came to her final test, she murdered the man in charge of conducting the exercise, commandeered a starcraft and escaped."

"You think she intends to defect." Fett concluded. The Emperor nodded again.

"Precisely. Investigations by Imperial Intelligence have tracked her to Marinet, a planet which, despite the empire's best efforts, still holds strong support for the rebellion. You can understand my anxiousness to retrieve Jade, even her incomplete knowledge of high level Imperial operations can be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"It seems you are just one step from taking her into custody yourself. Why do you require my service?"

"In a word, discretion. It would require a substantial force of Stormtroopers to subdue her without resorting to lethal force, and my all my other Hands are currently indisposed on duties across the galaxy that cannot simply be aborted. Lord Vader is similarly occupied. As it stands, you are perhaps the only person in the empire with the required skills to capture Mara Jade with a reasonable chance of recovering her in good health."

"So alive is the preferred condition of the target upon delivery?"

"Indeed. For all the faults she has show, Jade is far to promising a student to simply cast aside. Consider the bounty strictly as such."

Fett dipped his head once in acknowledgment. His instincts told him the entire story was a fabrication, or at least heavily embellished and altered, but that too was not uncommon in his vocation. However, the subject was most likely what the Emperor had described; it could serve many purposes to lie about the conditions of the conflict, but when it came to this Mara Jade, her status as a near-fully trained Hand was most likely true. And the implications of her betrayal certainly would be dire. The hunt was indeed worth his participation. Perhaps, it would even be a challenge.

"Very well, Emperor. I am interested. What is the bounty?"

"Excellent, excellent." The Emperor smiled crookedly, clapping once again. "Whatever your standard fee is, quadruple it. And, of course, add the price of your weapon. The information I promised will be forwarded along the communications band you were contacted on."

With nothing more to be said, Fett inclined his head slightly toward his client and turned to leave the room, keeping one eye trained on the ancient man through his reverse visual sensors. Stepping over the body of one of the guards, he left the hall behind and made his way back to Slave I. By now the subterfuge with the Mynoks had run its course, and maintenance crews filled the places of the guard patrols. An even easier exit than entrance, but it would turn out to be the last simple action he would make for a very long while.

(o) (O) (o)

Palpatine kept his face a well trained neutral as the Mandalorian walked out of the throne room, fully aware that Fett's helmet gave him a full 360 degree view of his surroundings and that the hunter was almost certainly watching him as he left. His pace was curt, but not the barely disguised rush that almost everyone who left his presence had. The only time Fett's speed changed was when he stepped over the red clad body of one of the guards he had slaughtered earlier. That impressed the Emperor as much as the man's fighting prowess. There were few who were daring enough not to feel ill at ease with their back turned, let alone have the guile to behave as if they were on equal terms with him, the master of the known universe. Granted that was mostly because he had had all of them imprisoned or executed, but that was the reason he was feared. It took either a truly cunning warrior, or a complete fool not to feel trepidation when standing face to face with the Imperial overlord, and despite the bounty hunter's inferior stock, Palpatine knew Fett was no fool. Yes, the hunter would prove a worthy prey for his Hand.

Only after the towering doors of the throne room had slid shut did Palpatine smile crookedly, and rotated his seat to the left slightly.

"You were correct in your assessment, my friend. Boba Fett is as fearless as he is lethal," he said to the darkness beyond the massive Nabooian marble pillars that flanked his dais. From that darkness strode a figure clad in a uniform that seemed to put even the pitch blackness that surrounded it to shame, and who's demeanour was, even to a non-force user, clearly more sinister. Darth Vader, dark lord of the Sith, ascended the pulpit and stood before him.

"I am not certain you know just how lethal he is, my master." Vader rasped over his ventilator. "Are you sure you want to follow this course of action?"

"Are you concerned you might lose your vassal, Vader?"

"No, I fear you may lose yours. It would be a shame... if Jade were to come up wanting against Fett." Vader replied. It wasn't from an actual concern for the young woman that Vader mentioned this. She was nothing more than an annoying gnat intruding in his domain, violating the Sith's most sacred law. He kept such thoughts under heavy guard however. Luckily, he was perhaps the only man left in the galaxy that could hide his thoughts from the mind behind the gnarled visage before him. He did not veil all of them of course. Otherwise his master would become suspicious. But in the private recesses of his mind, he did entertain less than positive thoughts regarding Palpatine's favorite plaything. The fact was, he would welcome Fett disposing of her and removing the distraction she caused. But, he knew that if he did, the Emperor would be thrown into a rage, and would likely hunt down the object of his wrath. And Boba Fett was far too useful and devious an ally to lose over the red-headed irritant.

"You question my training?" The Emperor asked, raising his marred eyebrow.

"Not at all, my lord. But your newest Hand is... young and rash. Fett will make no mistakes."

"You overestimate his capabilities, my friend. Simply because Jango Fett was able to slay those trained in the Jedi arts does not mean his son is."

"You forget, he almost bested me." Vader pointed out, perhaps a small amount of anger slipping into his dispassionate tone. If the Emperor was suggesting that Jade was his equal, things truly were about to become disparaging for the woman. If not from Fett, then from the dark lord himself.

"I forget nothing. Fett was aware of the danger you presented. He is not aware of Jade's. That unpreparedness will be his undoing."

"Master, of all the things Fett is not, unprepared is chief amongst them. If Jade believes she will catch him unawares, this conflict will be even less pitched that I thought."

"Your lack of faith in the power of the Dark Side is most disturbing, Lord Vader." Palpatine said quietly, a voice that Vader knew was by far his most dangerous. It would not do to have his apprentice questioning him.

"I apologize, my master. I merely thought it might be wise to bear in mind it is by far a worse mistake to underestimate an adversary than to overestimate one. It proved the Jedi's fatal error. I hope your Hand understands that."

It was interesting to Palpatine that Vader had so much confidence in the hunter. The Sith, by nature, despised those who equaled them in combat. No one was truly an ally in the eyes of a user of the Dark Side, even between master and apprentice, just an enemy or a tool, the latter of which being a potential enemy all the same. Perhaps yet another remnant of the Jedi which still clung to his apprentice. Or maybe an ulterior motive. The Emperor probed the other man's mind, looking for derision. But he found none.

"It matters not." The master said to his apprentice after the short pause, flicking his hand in the air and laughing darkly. "If you are correct, and Fett's crude skills are sufficient to defeat Jade, the fee to bring her in alive is far too appealing to risk her death. If not, then you will have to find another protégé."

"And if he should decide that the price of suffering her impudence outweighs the value of the credits?" Vader asked, interested if his guess about Palpatine avenging Jade was correct.

"Then I shall test for myself the famed Mandilorian resistance to pain."

* * *

And now, to the main event (or at least the beginning of it).


End file.
